


Willing To Die So You Can Shine

by Phylwannabe



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, F/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:35:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28843935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phylwannabe/pseuds/Phylwannabe
Summary: Jon Snow is the star of a major television show who needs to broaden his acting horizons. Sansa Stark and Arya Stark are beloved actresses in a  popular sitcom.  They are all invited to a prestigious film festival to introduce their newest film, an animated feature that has lots of buzz as a possible award winner.  Jon is good friends with Arya but he is in awe of the elegant Sansa and he would like nothing more than to let her know how he feels.  Of course he doesn't stand a chance when someone like the handsome Harry Hardying is there to escort her.  But a girl doesn't always need a handsome matinee idol...sometime she just needs a stubborn hero who is willing to die for her.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Oberyn Martell/Lyanna Stark, Sansa Stark/Harry Hardying (one sided)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 128





	1. The Westerosi Film Festival: A Chance to Shine

  
Sansa Stark leaned over the shoulder of her little sister, Arya, who was seated, rather grumpily, on a stool as she suffered their assigned dresser to finish her make-up. Sansa pressed a tissue between her newly painted lips, peered into the mirror, and after satisfying herself that her lipstick was perfect, dropped the cloth in the bin next to the vanity. She turned toward her sister and twirled around. “What do you think?” 

Arya snorted, causing the make-up artist to pull up short until she was sure that the younger Stark was finished with her unladylike exhalations. “You are gorgeous as always, Big Sister.” Arya quirked a heavy eyebrow in Sansa’s direction. “And you know it!” 

Sansa smiled and twirled again, this time not for Arya’s benefit but for the sheer joy of feeling the chiffon folds of her designer gown swirl around her body. She stepped over to the open windows and took a deep breath as she looked out over the shimmering ocean view. There really was no spot in Westeros quite so magical as Sunspear. The small Dornish capitol boasted beautiful architecture and a quaint harbor bordering the Summer Sea, but it was actually the warm air and the soft ocean breezes that lent a wondrous quality to the ambiance of the town. Then there was the diffused light that seemed to cast every person and thing in a hazy glow. For a self-confessed old fashioned romantic like Sansa, the city was the stuff of dreams. 

Sansa stepped to the floor length mirror and for the final time, surveyed her appearance critically. She was wearing a flowing ankle length gown in a soft pink. The gown was at once both modest and daring, the bodice of the gown slicing into a deep vee almost to her waist while still covering her breasts. Because Sansa had wanted to emphasize her first venture onto a red carpet dressed as something more than a wholesome ingenue, she had opted to wear her long auburn hair in a soft upsweep so that the bodice of her gown would be shown to best effect. The diamonds dangling from her ears matched the beautiful bracelet on her right wrist. All of her jewelry was on loan from the Tyrells at Highgarden Jewelers. Her outfit was completed by her shoes, dyed to a shade designed to complement her gown, the five inch heels giving her the additional height that always boosted her confidence when she was on display at movie premieres and such. 

Picking up her small bag and a delicate shawl in case the air turned cool as the sun went down, Sansa turned to consider her little sister. Arya was mere seconds from loosing her cool. Sansa could tell by the way she was squirming under the increasingly frantic efforts of her dresser. Sansa sighed; it was clearly time for her to intervene. She cleared her throat. “Madame, I think it is time for Arya to dress if we are to arrive at the festival on schedule.” 

Arya jumped up. “Thank the gods! What monkey suit have they picked out for me to wear this time?” Sansa held up a soothing hand toward the exasperated aide. “Arya, I think you will like this outfit, I really do.” 

Arya started to pull her shirt off her head, but at the last minute, remembered to unbutton it and let it fall off her shoulders. Sansa breathed out a sigh of relief. If she could get Arya to the red carpet more or less intact, her Mother would probably add six figures to her trust fund for the effort. Arya stood, hands on hips. “Well, what am I wearing?” 

Sansa glided over to the antique wardrobe and reached inside. “I think you will like this. I picked it out personally. I know how you like to be comfortable and this,” Sansa drew a garment forth with a flourish, “this is perfect for you!” 

Arya squinted for a moment, but then her scowling features smoothed out. “A one piece! Fancy overalls? Really?” She moved to the bed where Sansa had laid out the shimmering outfit. Sansa nodded. “And white to show off the terrific tan you got while on that cruise with Gendry.” 

Arya smiled as she pulled the garment off of the hanger. “Sans, you are the best! I love it!” As Sansa and the aide watched, Arya shucked her loose pajama bottoms and stepped quickly into the outfit. The aide hurried to help her, tying the halter top and fastening the side buttons as Sansa looked on. Arya really did look beautiful. The white jumper made her hair and dark eyes pop and unlike Sansa, who always needed color in her clothing choices, her tanned skin kept her from absolutely fading away in the chic outfit.

The dresser sighed in relief. “Slip your shoes on, Mademoiselle, and you will be ready!” Sansa clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, you are perfect, Arya. You will definitely make the best dressed list for sure!” 

Arya shrugged as if her sister’s effusive praise was unimportant. “Yeah, I’ll be the one with the asterik by my name, noted as the second best dressed Stark in 2021.” Sansa bent down because, even in her own five inch heels, Arya was still a shorty. She kissed her sister’s cheek. “Go on with you now. You will definitely knock ‘em dead.” 

Arya slipped on her own minimal jewelry, simple diamond studs that matched the clip in her dark hair. “Lead the way, Big Sis. Let’s go celebrate the Stark sisters very first appearance at the Westerosi Film Festival.” 

*********************

Jon Snow stepped out of the limousine and paused, taking in the scene spread out before him. Throngs of screaming fans lined the red carpet, waving signs, pictures and, _oh gods_ , was that actually lingerie wafting through the air? He sighed and turned back toward the vehicle to gather himself. He had hoped that his first appearance at the famed movie festival in Sunspear as an admittedly supporting player in the animated film, _Raising Direwolves_ , would give him an opportunity to avoid the harshest glare of the limelight. After all the film only featured his voice; he wasn’t displaying either his abs or his tush like he had been required to do in his hit television series. Jon had taken the voice role in the film precisely because he desperately wanted to be viewed as something more than just the “hunk of the moment.” But perhaps escaping his rabid fans wasn’t going to be that easy, not even at this, the most prestigious of film events. Turning back toward the crowd, he steeled himself and plastered a patented _smile that wasn’t quite a smile_ on his face. He nodded to the festival juror that was in charge of his film group and stepped to the side as the second limo arrived. 

Arya Stark stepped out of the white limo first and in characteristic Arya fashion, dashed around the front of the car and rushed up the steps to give him a big hug. “Snow! Looks like you brought a few thousand of your groupies with you,” she teased. He looked down at her affectionately. “Hello to you too, Ms. Stark.” Arya beamed and kicked up one heel, spinning as she did a 360, waving at the fans who were now chanting her name. The crowd responded with even bigger cheers and, just as the noise reached a crescendo, the real star emerged from the vehicle. Sansa Stark had patiently waited, _of course she had_ , for the driver to open the door and offer her a hand as she glided out of the limousine. 

Jon swallowed hard. He knew both sisters pretty well; they were the stars of what was arguably the most popular sitcom in Westeros television history. While his edgy and very adult program was routinely nominated for best drama series at all the award shows, the Stark girls were perennially on the same red carpets for best comedy. But while he and Arya had bonded almost immediately as friends both on and off the carpet, becoming friends with Sansa had proven more elusive. Oh, she was pleasant enough whenever they found themselves thrust into the same social situations, but otherwise Sansa was decidedly remote and removed. Jon shook himself: tonight was not the time for him to moon over Sansa Stark. He was here to celebrate their picture being chosen as an entry at the Westerosi Film Festival and he fully intended to be a charming and enthusiastic ambassador for the movie. 

Schooling his face into what he hoped was a pleasant expression he nodded to Sansa as she joined him and Arya. “Sansa. Good to see you. You look lovely.” Sansa smiled graciously. “Thank you, Jon. You look very handsome as well.” Jon opened his mouth to attempt what would undoubtedly be an embarrassingly inane response but he was spared when a third limo pulled up. Harry Hardying stepped out --- tall, golden, and impossibly good looking. Jon sensed Sansa taking a deep breath; she was obviously as affected by the handsome star as all of the screaming fans surrounding them. 

Jon felt his veneer of confidence waver. Who was he kidding? Jon Snow was just a poor schlub who had lucked into the role of a lifetime in his very first outing as an actor. On the other hand, Harry and Sansa were the real deal....film royalty so to speak. Arya would grow old as a fan favorite and if he was lucky, years from now, there would still be a few someones who might remember he had once been a television star, Harry and Sansa’s names would no doubt be etched in the pantheon of film history. 

Jon exhaled sharply and pulled himself up to his full height. Harry bounded easily up the steps and absently bussed Arya’s cheek before turning to Sansa. “You look beautiful, Sansa dear. Ravishing.” He took one of her small hands in his and bowed over it as he placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. Jon mentally kicked himself. _Why didn’t I do that?_ As the shrieks of the fans rose to a fever pitch, Harry held out an arm to Sansa who, with only the slightest hesitation, placed her hand into the crook of his elbow. Harry stepped past Jon with no more than a brief nod and a curt “Snow. You made it.” Harry used his free hand to blow kisses at the crowd as he escorted Sansa up the stairs to the entrance to the reviewing area where their official photographs would be taken. 

Jon reluctantly pulled his eyes from Sansa’s elegant back and looked down at Arya, holding out his arm. Grinning, Arya slid her arm into his. As she and Jon proceeded up the red-carpeted steps, she leaned over to whisper in Jon’s ear. “He’s a prick and Sansa can’t stand him.” Jon pulled away with a start, dark eyes roving over Arya’s face, then Arya pulled him closer yet again. “Just in case you wanted to know.” 

*********************

The man didn’t have an invitation but that had never stopped him before. He had learned that if you acted like you belonged, chances were good you could bluff your way inside almost any event, no matter how secure they otherwise appeared. Of course it helped if you appeared to fit in and Janos Slynt had rented a black tux so that he certainly looked as if he belonged at the film festival. 

Slynt had also learned to seize the moment. When a guard had been conveniently distracted by a group of foreign fans who had drifted a bit close to the barricades, he had easily slipped inside. After that it was a simple matter of taking advantage of other inevitable disruptions and he now found himself inside the large circular area that led from outdoors. Slynt sniffed imperiously at the now somewhat muted sounds from the fans lined up on either side of the red carpet. Those stupid sheep would never get to experience a true moment with stardom as he undoubtedly would today. Slynt took great pride in his skills; he was just as much of a performer as those actors that preened up and down the walkways, smiling and taking pictures, bestowing a wave or a kiss blown to the desperate fans while at the same time undoubtedly secretly scorning their pathetic obsessions. 

Slynt always planned his appearances carefully, orchestrating every move as surely as any award winning director. He had always chosen his co-stars with great deliberation, insuring that his scenes with them would give him the most personal satisfaction. Of course given the nature of his _art_ , he had to forego all the notoriety that these puffed up stars of screen and television enjoyed. Slynt fisted his hand inside the pocket of his jacket, frustrated by the fact that an ability to continue to perform necessitated that his identity remain anonymous. He was increasingly angry at the restrictions he faced and he dimly realized that his control was in danger of slipping. He had to hold on and only let himself go when he was alone and safe again. 

As he forced himself to ease his fist open, his hand touched the prop in his pocket that would allow him to achieve what he hoped would be his most laudable performance to date. He grinned to himself and casually nodded to some begowned and bejeweled ladies who were eyeing him, no doubt wondering at his identity. He forced himself to move forward, weaving between groups of people, straining to catch sight of the beautiful leading lady that he had chosen for his finest performance.

  
******************************

The cast of _Raising Direwolves_ was formally announced as they entered the large oval area that lay immediately outside the screening theater. Here the applause was decidedly more sedate but Jon still caught some of the women fanning themselves while there were men who were openly ogling both Arya and Sansa. The festival director, Oberyn Martell, hurried over to greet them. “Welcome to Sunspear,” Martell stated as he bowed, first to the ladies and then to the men. Jon released Arya, but Hardying continued to hold on to Sansa. Smirking, Martell inserted himself between Sansa and her companion as he smoothly took over escort duties from both men by extending an arm to both sisters. “Let’s get you lined up for your photograph, shall we?” Oberyn positioned Sansa and Arya facing the phlanx of cameras. “Now, the men.” Jon moved to stand beside Arya on the outside but Martell shook his head and placed him between Arya and Sansa, then positioned Harry on the side opposite Arya. “There. What a handsome group you are.” Martell posed for official picture with the cast, then moved aside as photographers from all of the various news agencies and publications present at the festival started to snap away. 

Jon wrapped an arm around Arya’s waist and felt her reciprocate. His other hand hovered somewhere behind Sansa, unsure just where exactly he should touch her. His hand was still waving indecisively, floating somewhere between her shoulders and her waist, when he felt Sansa's arm wrap around his waist just above Arya’s arm. Jon responded by placing his arm around her back. In spite of himself, he couldn't resist tugging her toward him and just a tad further away from Harry’s reach. He glanced up at Sansa....in her high heels she was a good six inches taller than his own five eight...and saw a slight smile pass over her lovely lips. Jon felt an irrepressible urge to grin and he let himself give in, beaming at the cameras as they flashed, lights bobbing and weaving all around. 

***************************

Slynt was so very close to the lovely star of his fevered dreams. There she was, a vision in flowing pink chiffon. He had managed to ease his way past the barriers once again and knowing that only security personnel was allowed in the portion of the oval immediately behind the stars, he had pilfered a security badge from another distracted guard. He moved steadily, but oh so casually, toward his beautiful target. Only four feet away ---now three ---he eased the knife from his pocket and fixed his gaze at the uncovered space right between her elegant shoulder blades. There it was — the exact spot where he would work his artistic magic. He lifted his arm and stepped forward in ecstasy, finally allowing himself the physical release that always accompanied his violence. A shout behind him, _oh, someone was watching his performance at last!_ and he grinned maniacally as he saw her stunned face turn as if in slow motion toward him. 

He must strike soon and so he pushed toward her with the blade, now only inches from her fair skin. Suddenly Slynt felt his hand wrestled away from his target, locked in a strong grip. _No! What was happening? No one could be permitted to interfere with his greatest act!_ He turned to see the angry face of the dark haired man who had been standing next to his beloved. The man had actually stepped in front of his target, offering himself --- _a poor substitute_. Janos snarled and forced the knife down toward the body of this impertinent show-off. _How dare he ruin my most acclaimed performance!_

He felt his blade scrape against something hard, then it slid and pushed inside flesh with a nauseating squelch, and he heard the man grunt in pain. People were screaming and he felt elated, the power of his talent fully on display. He needed to finish his performance, to strike again, but before he could, he was pulled backward and thrown to the ground. He looked up to see security guards, a whole phlanx of them, some with guns pointed and others grabbing him by the collar of his rented tux to pull him back. Slynt’s last thought before he was knocked into oblivion by a well placed gun butt was that he had finally achieved fame which was really all he had ever really wanted. 

****************************

Oberyn was shouting, desperately calling for help over the din of the terrified audience. Security was rushing to and fro, trying to get the crowd under control and escorted from the area. Harry had bolted at the first sign of trouble. Now he had wandered over to the sidelines and was throwing up all over the shoes of a disgusted usher. Arya was on the ground, cradling Jon’s head in her lap, tears glistening in her eyes. Sansa fell to her knees beside her sister and the man who had surely save her life. He was bleeding from a stomach wound....there was blood, so much blood. She had to stop the bleeding. Sansa reached down and tore her flowing gown at the knees. She ribbed the voluminous fabric until it pulled free of her destroyed dress and wadded the material up to press it against Jon’s stomach. Only when she had done all she could do did she dare to look at Arya. Somewhere in the background of the din and commotion, she dimly registered the sound of sirens that _gods be good_ meant help for the man bleeding out on the ground.

“He saved me,” she whispered to her sister. “That knife was meant for me.” Arya nodded, chest heaving, unable to respond even as she wiped her arm across her streaming eyes. Sansa looked down at Jon. His eyes were closed, eyelids fluttering. His skin was pale and his breathing shallow. _Seven hells! Where was the damned ambulance?_

******************************

At the direction of the EMTs who had arrived on scene, Sansa kept her hand pressed tight against Jon’s wound until they got him to the ambulance. Taking over they quickly lifted Jon inside and began working feverishly to stabilize him even as the doors slammed shut and the ambulance took off, tires screeching and sirens blaring. 

Sansa stood in the middle of the red carpet long after she had watched the ambulance depart. The crowd had been dispersed and only a few of the management and guards remained. Oberyn had come to let them know that, of course, the evening’s activities were cancelled. He had assured them that their parents had been notified and that he would provide security for them until Ned and Cat could arrive with their own personal guard. Sansa thanked him quietly and stood waiting for someone to come to take them back to their resort. 

In the commotion Sansa had somehow lost one of her shoes and her dress sagged, wisps of thread from the uneven hem blowing in the early evening breeze. She started as an arm wrapped around her, only to relax when she realized it was her little sister. 

Arya had composed herself somewhat and Sansa was glad, sagging against the shorter girl as she suddenly felt the adrenaline that had fueled her actions in the last frantic moments flow out of her body. She had not cried, not once, but now she felt hot tears well up in her eyes. She looked down at her sister. “Arya, why did he do that? Why would Jon risk himself like that?” 

Arya shook her head wordlessly, her only response being to tighten her arm around Sansa. They both looked up as Harry approached them. “Sansa! Thank the gods you are all right! I was so worried!” Sansa looked at Harry without responding and merely tightened her grip on Arya’s waist. Harry was oblivious to her coldness as he reached to embrace her. “Oh, my dear, I simply couldn’t handle it if you had been hurt. What a dreadful man!”

Sansa looked down at his hand and deliberately moved it from her arm. She said nothing, just began walking with Arya toward the entrance. Harry scurried alongside, stopping her a short distance from where Oberyn waited with their security detail. “Darling, wait!” Harry grabbed her away from Arya and spun her into his arms. “Please talk to me!” Sansa stopped and looked down at her feet then raised her eyes to look directly up into Harry’s face. She spoke slowly but distinctly. “Go. Away. Harry.” She turned and limped toward Oberyn. 

Harry moved to follow her but was brought up short by a surprisingly strong grip. He looked down to see Sansa’ little sister holding him back. The girl coughed, throat clogged with tears, but then managed to find her voice. “You heard my sister, Hardying. Leave her alone.” Harry had always considered Arya a pest and he knew that Sansa didn’t mean it. She was obviously just upset. Sansa _loved_ him and he wanted her - really needed her - to squire around when his playboy image started to overshadow his star quality. He moved to step around Arya only to be brought up short. The next thing he knew his jaw felt like it had exploded and he was on his knees. He looked up to see Arya standing over him, rubbing her fist. “You are a jerk. Leave my sister alone or I’ll give you even worse next time.” Arya turned, running toward her sister. Sansa embraced her and the two sisters walked away without a glance back while Harry Hardying bowed his head and sprawled on the red carpet. 


	2. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa waits at the hospital with Jon's mother as he fights for his life.   
> Lyanna's story is revealed and she gains an admirer even as she and Sansa become close.

The SUV that had met her at the airport had barely slowed when Lyanna Snow bolted from the back seat and rushed into the emergency entrance of Dorne University Medical Center. She made a beeline for the admissions desk. The young woman behind the glass slid the window open. “May I hel....”

“My son!” Lyanna gasped. “Jon Snow! He was brought here tonight. He was injured at the Film Festival.” 

The attendant’s eyes widened as she immediately reached for the phone on her desk, dialing an extension from memory. “Yes, this is the ER admissions desk. Mrs. Snow is here. Yes, that Mrs. Snow. She just arrived.” A pause and then she nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course.” 

The attendant motioned for Lyanna to step toward the door next to the admissions cubicle. “I am going to buzz you in. A nurse will meet you and escort you to the surgical waiting room.” She paused and then hesitantly squeezed the older woman’s arm. “Good luck to you...and your son.” Lyanna nodded tersely and waited for the door to open. 

******************

She kept staring at the double doors that led to the surgery unit, but no one had been in or out since she got there almost two hours before. Lyanna checked the wall clock immediately above the door. _Only ten minutes since the last time she checked, but it seemed like an eternity had passed._

The automatic doors swished open and two doctors came out engaged in an animated conversation. One was sharing an expansive tale about the amazing round of golf he had played the past weekend. Lyanna wanted to scream at both of them. _My son could be dying and all you can do is talk about a silly game. What is wrong with you?_ She pushed out of her chair and strode to the bank of windows that looked out over the city. Leaning her shoulder against the glass, Lyanna closed her eyes, thinking back to the last time she had been in Dorne, almost twenty seven years before....

She was only nineteen, a freshman studying history at White Harbor University. During her first college spring break, Lyanna had jaunted off to Sunspear with three of her friends. The plan was to work on their tans and to meet some cute guys. On her second day in the city, Lyanna had been rushing from the hotel to join her friends on the beach and had literally run into a handsome man who by all appearances was at least a decade older, and millions of dragons richer, than herself. The man had apologized profusely even though the collision was clearly her fault and _to make it up to her_ , he had invited her to have brunch with him. Over eggs benedict and mimosas she learned his name was Rhaegar Targaryen and that he lived in Kings Landing. She accepted his invitation for dinner and that night he took her to one of the nicest restaurants in the capitol. He was charming, attentive, and drop dead gorgeous. Rhaegar made her feel like a grown-up, a sophisticated woman, and Lyanna ignored her friends’ concerns that she was falling for a man she knew little about.

She had begged off from all the fun her friends had planned and spent the rest of the week with the man of her dreams on a king size bed in his penthouse suite. It was romantic and the sex was out of this world. By the end of the week, Lyanna was certain she had met the love of her life. 

On the morning before she was scheduled to fly back to White Harbor with her friends, Lyanna had woken up to find that she was the only one still tangled up in the satin sheets. Rhaegar was gone and an ivory note card filled with his elegant handwriting was left on his side of the enormous bed. He told Lyanna that she was beautiful, that she made him want to live again, and that he loved her beyond all rhyme or reason. He did not tell her that he was already married and that he and his unsuspecting wife, Elia, already had two children. Lyanna only learned that information four months later when she tracked him down at his office in Kings Landing and nervously informed him that she was pregnant. 

Rhaegar had been supportive. _Of course he would help her. He would certainly pay for her to “get rid” of their problem._ He was also unflinchingly firm: in exchange for her silence, he would give Lyanna enough money to complete her education with the clear understanding that their affair had been, of necessity, over the minute he had returned to his wife and children. The last image Lyanna had of Rhaegar Targaryen before she stormed out of his office was of him sitting behind his mahoghany desk, an elegant fountain pen in his hand, as he added zeros to a check she would never in a million years accept from him.

Lyanna had often wondered why she didn’t harbor more resentment for her brief liaison with Rhaegar. It had certainly completely changed her plans and made life a lot harder than it would have been otherwise. But from the moment she had held her baby boy in her arms, his dark eyes solemnly considering his young mother as if to say, _We’ve got this, We will make it through this together_ , Lyanna had fallen hopelessly in love and she had never once looked back. Her son was the one thing she could never regret; he had given her happiness beyond all measure. Jon was her pride and joy and now he was fighting for his life. The surgery was taking forever. That meant it must be really serious. She could lose him...he might leave her...and how would she ever handle....

“Mrs. Snow?” Startled, Lyanna pushed away from the window. A pretty young woman and an older man stood before her. She brushed tears from her cheeks and took a deep breath. “It’s _Ms._ Snow actually.” At her acknowledgment the girl smiled at her, her entire face lighting up, and Lyanna realized that she wasn’t just pretty....she was beautiful...gorgeous really. The man spoke up, his deep voice tinged with an accent that was somehow deeply comforting to Lyanna, reminding her of the North and home. “My apologies, Ms. Snow. I am Ned Stark and this is my daughter, Sansa. May we talk?” 

Lyanna gasped in recognition and reached to grasp the man’s hand. “Lord Stark! You have done so much for me already. Thank you for sending the private jet! I wouldn’t be here yet if I had taken a commercial flight. I don’t know how I can ever repay you!”

Ned shook his head. “You are wrong. You owe me nothing. It is I who will never be able to repay your son. He saved my daughter’s life today.” 

Noting Lyanna’s look of confusion, Sansa spoke in a low voice. “We were on the red carpet together. Arya - my sister and Harry Hardying. Jon and I. Jon was standing next to me. We heard a shout - a warning, I suppose - then it all happened so quickly. I saw a knife....a man was wielding a knife and he was looking directly at me. A crazy man. I saw his eyes....” Sansa trailed off . Ned reached over and hugged his daughter close to himself. Sansa took a deep breath, then started again as Ned and Lyanna glanced at each other over the girl’s bowed head. “He became so angry when Jon stepped between us. He was like a rabid animal.” Sansa looked at the older woman and grasped her hand. “I am so sorry. It is all my fault that Jon was hurt.”

Lyanna’s motherly instincts kicked in as she squeezed Sansa’s hand. “My dear, you cannot think that this is your fault. Jon wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.” Sansa bit her lower lip, determined not to cry in front of Jon’s mother. Ned led them to sit by the surgery entrance and they settled in, prepared to wait.

********************

Thirty minutes later the double doors to the surgery unit opened. Lyanna held her breath, unaware that she had grasped on to Sansa’s hand and was squeezing so tightly that the girl was actually wincing. Still dressed in scrubs and cap, the burly man entering the waiting room looked exhausted, but when he saw the trio waiting, he gave them a tired smile. “You are Mr. Snow’s mother?” he asked looking at Lyanna. She nodded and he pulled a chair over to face her. “I am Doctor Mormont, vascular specialist assigned to this hospital. I operated on your son.”

“How is he...will he...will he be all right? Will he make it?” Lyanna whispered. 

“I must be honest with you, Ms. Snow. He lost a lot of blood and he is in critical condition.” Seeing Lyanna’s eyes well up with tears he hurried on. “But he is stable for right now and he is young, strong, otherwise in excellent shape.” 

Lyanna seemed unable to speak so Ned interrupted. “What were the extent of his injuries?”

Mormont turned to Ned. “The knife evidently initially struck his rib cage, then it slid off the bone and entered his abdomen. We had to remove his spleen,” Lyanna gasped and the doctor held out his hand to stop further interruptions. “That in and of itself is not life threatening. My biggest concern is that the blade was evidently designed to cause as much damage as possible upon entry. There was tremendous trauma sustained to stomach muscles and tissue and it took a long time to make all the repairs necessary. And as I have already stated, there was a great amount of blood loss.”

The doctor paused; it was obvious there was more but he seemed unsure how to proceed. Ned prodded him. “Go on, Doctor. Ms. Snow needs to know the full prognosis.” 

Mormont swallowed hard and nodded. “I have been a trauma surgeon for over thirty years and I have never run into anything quite like this.” He stood up, clearly agitated, and pushed his cap off, his gray hair sticking out in all directions. He sat down again and looked directly at Lyanna. “We can’t be sure until the knife has been analyzed fully, but forensics has found traces of contamination on the blade.” 

Sansa interrupted, clearly agitated. “What exactly does that mean, Doctor Mormont?” The doctor looked at the young girl and softened his tone. “We believe that the knife may have been tainted with some sort of bacterial or viral agent. We don’t know the exact composition yet and until we do, we won’t know how to deal with it.” He looked solemnly at the three people sitting before him. “I might as well shoot straight with you. We don’t think it was intended to be fatal in and of itself. Not like a poisonous agent. However, the contamination was clearly deliberate. We think the assailant intended it to be slow acting, designed to blossom into a full blown infection hours -maybe even days - after the first exposure.”

Ned spoke in a commanding tone. “What are you trying to tell us?”

Mormont let out a tired exhalation, his shoulders dropping. “If we hadn’t become aware of the taint while operating, I would have closed up the wounds. Once that happened, the contamination would have been out of control before the source would have been discovered. By that time it might easily have been too late.” He turned his eyes to Lyanna. “Your son would have died, not from the serious injuries he sustained, but from a raging infection.” 

The doctor spread his hands out in front of him and Sansa noticed that they were trembling. Mormont clasped them together and continued. “Ms. Snow, you mustn’t lose hope. We have a great team of doctors here. We will figure out what we are dealing with.” The doctor stood. “Until we know how to treat the infection, we are leaving the wound open. That means that you cannot be in the room with him.” Lyanna opened her mouth, clearly intending to protest but the doctor cut her off. “There is no room for argument here. Jon is in a very vulnerable state right now. We need to fight this infection, but we can’t risk exposing him to something else either.” His eyes softened as he looked down at his patient’s worried mother.  
“Once we can move him, Jon will be going to a sterile ICU unit. You will be able to see him from outside his room so long as you disinfect and wear protective gear.” 

“I’ll do whatever it takes to see him. Just take good care of my son.” Lyanna’s voice broke. “He’s my only child, my entire world....” 

Doctor Mormont cleared his throat. “I promise you, Ms. Snow. We will do everything humanly possible for him. The rest will be left up to a higher power than myself.” 

************************  
  
When Cat and Arya arrived at the hospital somewhat later, Ned excused himself and left the hospital with a determined look on his face. Sansa later learned that her father had talked to the authorities and the prosecuting attorney in Sunspear to make sure that Janos Slynt would not have a chance in seven hells of being released on bail. During the long waits between her visits to see Jon through the observation window, Lyanna had also confided in Ned and Sansa that she was worried about Jon’s job. Right before he had left for Dorne and the film festival, Jon had called his mother from King’s Landing and told her that he was scheduled to resume production on the fifth season of the show in just a few weeks. Lyanna tearfully shared Jon’s excitement at the fact that the season scripts promised an even larger role for his character than ever before. Lyanna had dropped her eyes to her lap, threading her fingers together in a nervous pattern. “I am not worried about Jon’s job. Not at all. I just want him to get better. But if Jon were conscious, he would be in a turmoil, worried that he will be replaced by the show runners.” She looked at the Starks with resignation. “Jon has always told me that he has to show up no matter what, no matter how he feels, because no performer is irreplaceable. Jon would say that the entire production can’t be put on hiatus just because of one actor’s problems.”

Ned had given a terse nod in acknowledgment of Lyanna’s concerns, but when he returned, he brought copies of all the major Westerosi newspapers with him as well as several weekly magazines. He plopped them down on the table in front of both women. “Jon has absolutely nothing to worry about, Lyanna,” Ned proclaimed confidently. When both women kept looking at him in confusion, he pointed directly to the stack of publications. “Look! All of these newspapers have front page stories on Jon and what he did to save Sansa from that monster. The publications too.... Your son is a bona fide hero and his stock as an actor has gone up about 1000 percent! Any production with which he is associated will be guaranteed to be at the top of the ratings for at least the next year, if not two.” Lyanna had smiled, bolstered by Ned’s confidence and she had started thumbing through the articles about her son when Sansa pulled her father aside. 

“You talked to them, didn’t you Daddy?” she whispered. Ned stuck his hands in his pockets and looked around nonchalantly. When he was assured that no one was close enough to hear their conversation, he leaned toward his daughter. “You know that our family does have some clout in the film industry...” Sansa nodded. Of course she knew that. After all, the hit sitcom she and Arya starred in was helmed by a producer who had gotten his first big break at Wolf Pack Films. Ned continued. “While we don’t often flex our muscles, the Starks can certainly influence decisions with a well placed word here and there. I have discussed it with your Mother and we both agree that we _will_ go to bat for Jon. Those bozos won’t fire Jon and if they know what is good for them, they will delay his part in the production as long as necessary for him to return in good health. Otherwise there is a very real chance that they will be the ones who are replaced.”

Sansa threw her arms around her father’s neck. “Thank you, Daddy!”

Ned patted his daughter’s cheek affectionately. “Nothing is too good for my little girl and certainly not for the man who saved her life.” 

***************************  
Over the next thirty six hours the rest of the Starks came and went but Sansa refused to leave the hospital. Lyanna didn’t seem to mind having Sansa around and Sansa enjoyed getting to know her better. Lyanna was understandably eager to talk about Jon and during the interminable waits between opportunities to observe her unconscious son, she shared glimpses of him growing up in White Harbor. Some of the stories Lyanna shared were sweet, others sad, and some would have certainly embarrassed Jon if he had been present for their conversations. While Lyanna talked a lot about Jon and Sansa willingly absorbed everything she shared, the younger woman didn’t share a word about her budding feelings for Jon with his mother.

The honest truth was that Sansa _had_ been interested in Jon well before he had stepped in to save her at the film festival. Sansa was a few years younger than Jon but having grown up around the “business”, she liked to think that she had a knack for spotting talent. From the moment Jon came across her radar as a fresh-faced supporting cast member on _Ice and Fire,_ she had taken notice. Although the first season or two didn’t give him a great deal to do, he had nailed his character, making Jae an incredibly fascinating mixture of brooding intensity and shy little boy. Of course she had met him from time to time on the red carpet, but when they had begun taping _Raising Direwolves_ together, Sansa found that Jon was himself a blend of all the qualities he depicted on screen: his smoldering good looks were certainly enough to make her toes, as well as a few other parts of her anatomy, tingle, but he could rarely say two words to her without becoming tongue tied and withdrawn. She didn’t understand it really. He was comfortable with Arya, joking and kidding around in a charming, easy-going manner. Arya clearly liked him. In fact she had told Sansa more than once to _“Stop with the Harry worship already and take a good look at the only real man in the sound booth.”_

When Sansa had protested that she didn’t think of Jon in that way, Arya had just snorted and rolled her eyes. Her sister’s reaction caused Sansa to think a lot about her true feelings. If she was honest, she would have to admit that Jon Snow with all of his many contradictions fascinated her. Sansa only hoped that when he recovered - and he _would_ recover - she would find a way to let him know how very much she liked him. 

After forty eight hours, the medical team decided that they had likely halted any chance of infection in Jon’s body. Jon went back into surgery so that Dr. Mormon could close and suture his open wound. Lyanna was elated when the surgery nurse came to tell her she could join her son in recovery. Sansa gave her a big hug and told Lyanna that she was going home to shower and change clothes, but she would be back. She offered the older woman a proposition. “I know you don’t want to leave Jon alone, but once you are comfortable leaving for a bit, I can sit with him so that you can get out of the hospital for a while.”

Lyanna shook her head. “Right now, I don’t want to let my boy out of my sight, but I am sure I will need a break at some point. Perhaps later tomorrow, dear. Go on and enjoy your evening. I will be fine here by myself.”

Sansa had no intention of leaving Lyanna by herself. Just as she was about to protest that she would be back, the elevators opened and Oberyn Martell stepped out. The Festival Director had been to the hospital numerous times over the last few days, ostensibly to make sure that the _“Hero of the Westerosi Film Festival”_ was getting better. Sansa observed, however, that Oberyn did little to hide his obvious interest in Lyanna. She hoped that Lyanna might reciprocate: Oberyn was known as a bit of a rake but a charming one at that and Sansa had never known him to be so clearly taken by a woman as he was by Jon’s mother. From the stories that the older woman had shared about her life raising Jon as a single parent, it was clear that there had been little time for romance in Lyanna Snow’s life. Jon’s mother had concentrated on her son and her career as a history professor at White Harbor University and there had evidently been no man other than Jon in her life. Ever the romantic, Sansa hoped that Lyanna might find some happiness for herself in the middle of all this emotional trauma. 

The dapper Dornishman affectionately bussed Sansa on the cheek and then lifted Lyanna’s hand to bestow a gentle kiss on her knuckles. Sansa realized that the couple were focused entirely on each other so she smiled as she pushed the _down_ button for the elevator. “Well then, I’ll just leave you in Mr. Martell’s capable hands and I will be back tomorrow.” When the elevator doors opened, she stepped inside, pushed the button, and then gave a little wave as the doors closed on an obviously flustered Lyanna and a very smug looking Oberyn. 

Sansa’s guard met her in the lobby. Ned had insisted that she have around the clock security, particularly when she was outside of her hotel suite. The guard called for a taxi and they made their way back to the hotel. Ned and Catelyn were there along with Arya and Gendry.

Gendry had taken an emergency leave of absence from his work as chief welder at the Winterfell Foundry and flown to Dorne just so he could make sure that Arya was fine. Sansa liked Gendry and she thought that he and Arya were a perfect duo, but she sometimes couldn’t help feeling a twinge of jealously that she didn’t have someone even half as dedicated to her as Gendry was to her sister. 

Sansa hadn’t laid down in an actual bed for the past five days. She was exhausted and fell sound asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. In the middle of the night, Sansa woke, her heart pounding even as the nightmare faded. She knew that she had been reliving the moment when Slynt had maniacally looked directly into her eyes and pointed his evil knife at her chest. Sansa had bolted upright and only realized that she was sitting on the side of the bed when Arya slipped from the adjoining bed and wrapped an arm around her waist. “You ok, Sans?” she muttered sleepily. 

Sansa pushed her hair back from her sweaty forehead and shuddering, pressed her face into Arya’s shoulder. “I can’t get Slynt’s face out of my head, Arya. I keep seeing him looking at me as if I was his special sacrifice.” Arya gently pushed Sansa back onto the pillow and curled her smaller body against her sister. “Go back to sleep. You’re safe. Nothing is going to happen to you, Sans. I promise.” Sansa clutched Arya and closed her eyes. She _knew_ that she was protected, surrounded by her parents and her fierce little sister, watched over by the best security that the Stark money could buy, but she still didn’t feel safe. Ironically, the only place her fears didn’t overwhelm her was when she was at the hospital, sitting with Lyanna as they waited for Jon to wake. 

*************  
  
Sansa arrived back at the fifth floor of the medical center early the next morning, cups of coffee and a box full of her favorite bagels in hand. She chuckled to herself when she found Oberyn napping in the waiting area, slouched uncomfortably across two chairs. Her instincts had been correct: _Lyanna had not been alone all night._

Sansa settled herself into a chair and spread the bagels out on the low table in front of her. Oberyn stirred and one eye opened. “Beautiful Sansa! Is that a delightful new scent you’re wearing or did you stop by the best bakery in Sunspear?” Sansa laughed and waved her hand toward the spread. “Help yourself, Mr. Martell.” Oberyn swung his lanky body into an upright position and reached for a cinnamon raisin bagel and the cream cheese spread. Neither spoke until Oberyn had taken his first bite. “Hmmm. Delicious.” 

Sansa nodded as she sipped her latte and offered him one. “Is Lyanna with Jon?” 

Oberyn munched happily. “She must be. I imagine she will come out in a bit.”   
As they continued to eat their breakfast, Oberyn observed Sansa with a shrewd gaze. “You and your sister should start filming for next season soon, right?”

Sansa delicately picked off a bit of her bagel, popped it in her mouth and chewed a moment before answering. “We haven’t discussed the schedule with the production team. I am thinking we will start again in about a month.” 

Oberyn made a silent _Oh_ of understanding. “So will you be staying in Dorne for the near future? No plans to fly over to Essos to spend time with Mr. Hardying and all the other beautiful people for the rest of the summer?” 

Sansa spoke in clipped tones. “No. I have no plans to spend any time with Mr. Hardying, in Essos or anywhere else.”

Oberyn smiled. “Good. I don’t like that man.” 

Sansa smiled faintly. “Join the club.” 

The pair grinned at each other and continued to sip their coffee in companionable silence until Lyanna appeared from the ICU entrance. Oberyn stood up immediately, brushing crumbs from his trousers. “Lyanna, my dear. Sansa has brought you some breakfast.” 

Lyanna bent over Sansa and placed a quick kiss on her cheek. “Thank you, dear. I hadn’t realized it, but I am quite hungry.” 

Sansa handed her a coffee. “Did you get to spend some time with Jon? How is he?”

Lyanna ran her fingers through her hair. “He is sleeping peacefully. The nurse told me that they plan to start easing him off his meds a bit today. They want to give him a chance to gradually come out of the medically induced coma. It will be less traumatic that way for him.”

Oberyn sat down next to Lyanna and offered her a bagel which she took with a grateful smile. “That is good news, right?” Lyanna nodded as she took a bite and closed her eyes. “Delicious. Yes, I think that starting to wake him up has to be a good sign. Dr. Mormont will be by later this morning and I am anxious to hear his opinion as to how Jon is progressing.” 

Oberyn wrapped an arm around her chair. “Lyanna, I know that you want to be here when your son wakes up. But once that happens and you have a chance to speak to him, I think you should give serious thought to leaving the hospital and giving yourself a change for a good rest.” He held his hand up when Lyanna started to interrupt. “No, hear me out. It is going to take quite a while for Jon to be on his own. You will do him no good if you make yourself sick before he is even discharged from the hospital.”

Lyanna shook her head stubbornly. “I don’t want to leave him. What if he needs something?” 

Sansa noticed the affectionate way in which Oberyn carefully brushed an errant curl from Lyanna’s face. “He is getting the best care possible, Lyanna.” Oberyn cast a meaningful glance over at Sansa. “Besides, I think I know someone who would be willing to help you out.”

Sansa nodded. “Ms. Snow, I would be happy to spell you for a night. I promise that if Jon needs you or even if he just asks for you, I will get in touch with you immediately.” 

Lyanna looked from Oberyn’s bronzed face to Sansa’s fair one. Bemused, she shook her head. “Tell you what. I will not leave until Jon is truly awake and I have had a chance to speak to him. After that I will consider going somewhere to take a shower and get some sleep.” She looked directly at Oberyn. “But I will only stay away long enough to get a good nap and then I intend to come right back.” 

Oberyn shrugged. “As you wish, milady.” Lyanna gave him a playful tap on his arm and Sansa felt her insides warm at how cutely obvious the couple had become in their new feelings for each other. 

*****************************

The nurses allowed Sansa to go back to Jon’s room with Lyanna that afternoon. It was the first time she had actually seen Jon since he had been placed in the ambulance. Her stomach flipped as she saw him laying there, body still and pale. He was surrounded by machines monitoring his vitals, his left arm a repository for numerous wires which ran to those instruments in a helter skelter pattern. 

Lyanna went immediately to Jon’s bedside and took his right hand in her own, talking softly to her unconscious son as if they were merely conversing across the breakfast table. Sansa held back, suddenly feeling awkward and terribly out of place. After several minutes, Lyanna turned and beckoned her closer. “You can speak to him, Sansa, if you like. I like to think Jon can hear me, even if he can’t respond just yet.” 

Sansa tentatively approached and allowed herself to gaze openly at the boy who had saved her life. Even though Jon was obviously gravely injured, Sansa thought she had never seen a more handsome man and her heart made a funny skip and jump as she looked at him. 

Lyanna smiled, nodding to encourage her to come closer. “I’ll just step out and you can keep Jon company for a bit, O.K.?” Sansa swallowed. Unable to respond, she merely nodded. Lyanna slid past Sansa, giving her arm an encouraging squeeze. 

Sansa placed her hands on the safety rails of Jon’s hospital bed to steady herself. Standing so close, she could now see that Jon’s pale face was noticeably thinner while the delicate skin immediately beneath his dark lashes looked bruised. She looked around a bit desperately - _what am I supposed to talk to him about?_ Sansa pulled up a chair and sat next to the bed. She noticed a book lying open, spine up, on the bedside table; it was the first Harry Potter book. Sansa remembered that Arya had told her she and Jon shared a love for the boy magician. Sansa picked up the book and cleared her throat. She began reading from the top of the page, deliberately keeping her voice low. 

Sansa got caught up in the story. The actress in her came out and she found herself automatically varying her voice and tone while she made her way through the chapter. Sansa had propped the book up against the bed rail as she read and her free hand had moved to lie next to Jon’s where it rested on the bed. Sansa was so intent on her reading that she almost missed the feather light touch to the side of her little finger. She paused; Jon was still laying still with his eyes closed. She must have imagined the contact. Looking down, Sansa cleared her throat and continued. She had just started the next chapter when she felt it again, this time a more definite press against her hand. She tossed the book onto the table and bent over the bed rail. “Jon? Jon? Can you hear me?” 

She concentrated on Jon’s face. His eyes were now moving rapidly underneath the shadowed lids. Sansa reached for the call button and pressed. When the nurse popped in, Sansa turned without moving her hand from Jon’s side. “Can you get Ms. Snow, please? I think her son may be waking up!” 

The nurse moved swiftly to the monitors and then looked at Jon. She nodded and briskly left the room. Seconds later, Lyanna rushed in and moved close to Sansa. “Is he finally waking up?”

Sansa nodded. “I think so. I believe he moved his hand...just a bit. I felt it against mine.” Sansa stood and pressed Lyanna into the chair so she could be even closer to her son. “I knew you would want to be here if he woke up.”

Lyanna grabbed Jon’s hand and whispered to him. “Jon, it’s Mum. Can you move your hand if you can hear me? Just once, son, for me.” 

Both women held their breath for a long moment. Sansa’s eyes were fixed on the two hands clasped together. Then, suddenly, she saw Jon’s fingers tap ever so slightly against his mother’s hand. Lyanna looked up at Sansa, tears glistening in her dark eyes, then quickly turned her attention back to her son. Sansa felt tears welling up in her own eyes and briskly brushed her hand across her face.

“Jon, can you open your eyes for me? Jon, please try, if you can.” It was obvious that Jon was hearing his mother as his eyelids began to flutter. Sansa held her breath but after a moment the effort seemed too much for the injured man and the movement stopped. 

Lyanna was not going to give up though, not when she knew her son was so close to consciousness. She began singing softly, an old Northern folk tune that Sansa remembered from her own childhood at Winterfell. Sansa found herself joining in, humming under her breath. “I would sing Jon to sleep with this when he was a little boy,” Lyanna smiled up at Sansa. “He always loved the tales of Florian the Fool.” 

“Me, too,” Sansa murmured as she leaned over Lyanna’s shoulder. The nurse in charge had come to stand on the other side of the bed where she could monitor Jon’s vitals and observe any changes. “Keep talking to him, Ms. Snow. He will respond to you before he would ever respond to a stranger’s voice.” 

Lyanna turned to Sansa. “He started coming to when Sansa was here. Were you speaking to him?” Sansa nodded. “I was reading to him.” 

The nurse smiled at Sansa. “For some reason, he responded particularly to your voice. Say something to him again, dear.”

Sansa felt self conscious as the older women both watched her. She leaned over the bed again. “Jon, it’s Sansa. I want to thank you for saving me. Can you wake up so I can tell you how much I appreciate what you did for me?” Lyanna had moved her hand and without thinking, Sansa gripped Jon’s hand in her own. “Jon. _Please_.” 

Lyanna gave a small gasp. Sansa’s head, bowed over their joined hands, shot up. She looked at Jon’s face and was startled to find that his lips were moving soundlessly. His eyes were fluttering again and a long moment passed, then his eyes slitted to a narrow opening. A noise, sounding like sand paper rubbed over concrete, emerged from his lips. “Sans....” Jon stopped, his throat bobbing as he tried again. “Sansa. Mum,” he croaked hoarsely and then melted back into the bed, obviously worn out from the effort.   
  
Lyanna’s eyes glistened as she hugged Sansa. “He knew us! He knew us!” Sansa didn’t try to respond; she knew she would burst out in tears if she tried to answer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this story has taken on a life of its own and will be more than two chapters. Jon and Sansa are the end game but it will take them a while longer to realize their mutual feelings are....mutual. Typical Jonsa angst. Also, there may still be some danger in store for Sansa and Jon.


	3. Little Indignities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is recovering and facing the hard truth that Sansa is being attentive only because she feels obligated by duty to care for him. Sansa is falling for Jon but fears he will want her out of his life sooner than later. Lots of typical Jonsa angst and actions that make us all want to knock Jonsa heads together....

Jon groaned as he leaned over to flush the toilet. He closed his eyes and let the nausea that inevitably hit him with even the most minute up and down movement, spike, then ebb. Septa Mordane, senior nurse in charge, had told no part of a lie when she had directed a cool gaze at him over her clipboard and primly informed Jon that he would find it _somewhat uncomfortable to evacuate his bladder_ for the first few times after his catheter was removed. Jon could certainly vouch for Mordane’s clinical assessment if _somewhat uncomfortable_ could be equated to pissing five inch nails through his tortured member. Jon moved sideways for the small step and a half it took to reach the sink. He turned the water on, soaped up, and then spread his hands out under the warm flow, being careful to avoid the tubes that still connected him to his constant companion, a rolling IV pole. When he finished washing up, he chanced a glance in the mirror and groaned again. 

Slynt had slashed his stomach into ribbons, but he might just as well have taken the contaminated blade to Jon’s face. The image reflected back at him was of a man fifteen years older than his 27 years: he was wan, pale and thin. While the nurses had done their best to keep him clean, his beard was in need of a good trim and his hair could use some attention from a barber as well. On a good day, Jon felt he could hold his own with any average guy in the looks department, but this was certainly _not_ a good day. 

Jon dried his hands and prepared to shuffle back to his bed. He had been on his feet for over an hour and while he was determined to walk as much as possible in order to gain back his strength, after forcing himself to move for all that time, he was now completely wiped out. As Jon eased himself onto the side of the bed and painfully contemplated the effort it would take to lift his legs onto the mattress, he tried to think positively. While leaving Dorne Medical might realistically take a day or two longer - _his Mum thought a full week or more_ \- he did have some things to look forward to. He had made Lyanna promise - _pinky swear promise_ \- that she would return today with pajama bottoms and some old tee shirts as well as a robe or sweater so that he could finally get out of this damn hospital gown with the gaping hole in the back. Getting his body back into actual clothing would certainly make his tortured walks down the corridor from his room to the hall window and back less humiliating.

Then there was the promise of a courier arriving with a package containing the new scripts for the fifth season of _Ice and Fire_. Lyanna had contacted Jon’s good friend and cast mate, Sam Tarly. Unlike Jon, who lived in a penthouse suite in the Red Keep historical district of Kings Landing, Sam, being married with a small child, lived a bit outside of the capitol city in a nice house with an even nicer yard. Sam, bless him, had gone to Jon’s flat and collected the scripts that Jon had left lying on the dining room table when he had left for the film festival. Sam had also checked Ghost out of the pricy kennel where Jon had left him, agreeing to take the big dog home with him for the duration. Little Sam was delighted to have Ghost as a four legged play buddy and Gilly, bless her too, had taken having a pony sized canine wandering around her home with her usual calm and aplomb.

Once his head had cleared a bit, really just a few hours after regaining consciousness, Jon had begun to fret endlessly about his job. His Mum had held his hand and assured him he wasn’t going to be replaced but Jon couldn’t stop worrying until Lord Eddard Stark, majority stockholder and CEO of Wolf Pack Films, had visited him and categorically informed the younger man that his role in the show industry insiders referred to as IF would definitely be waiting for him whenever he could make it back to set. Jon had heard enough stories about the man’s formidable clout in the industry to accept Ned’s statements as fact and the older man’s assurances calmed him as nothing else could. 

Despite the delay in filming his scenes Jon was itching to get his hands on the scripts because reading and studying them would allow him to begin thinking about his character and where he wanted to take Jae this season. That effort would also help keep his mind off his fairly constant pain and discomfort as well. 

The best thing that Jon had to look forward to - if he were honest, the main thing that had kept him going during the last week of relentless pain - were his routine visits from Sansa. As Jon eased his head back on the pillow and pulled the covers up over his aching body, he closed his eyes, instantly conjuring up an image of the alluring Ms. Stark. His Mum had confided that Sansa hadn’t missed even a single day coming to the hospital; once he woke up, Jon himself could vouch for the fact that Sansa spent more hours at his bedside than away. She even seemed reluctant to leave when the end of visiting hours was announced every evening. Jon liked Sansa - hells, he more than liked her and had for some time- but he also understood her motivation in assuming the role of his constant bedside companion. 

Jon raised his free arm and crossed it over his weary eyes, blocking out the harsh light from the flourescent ceiling fixture that he had forgotten to turn off before he got into bed. He needed to rest, to sleep, but his thoughts kept churning, inevitably turning to the beautiful redhead who had become such a big part of his life over the last few days. Jon chided himself for letting his emotions run unchecked: Sansa was clearly acting out of a sense of obligation. She saw Jon as the man who had saved her from certain harm, if not death, and along with her entire family, she could not let that debt go unpaid. As much as Jon enjoyed having Sansa around, as much as she brightened his miserable, hurting days, down deep he knew that he needed to cut her visits off sooner rather than later. Jon could look at her for hours on end, quietly reveling in everything that made Sansa Stark so special to him, but he needed to be pragmatic. It would hurt like seven hells not to see her lovely face peering at him over a book or a hand of cards as she sat by his bedside, but pulling the bandage off in one brutal yank would be better for his heart in the long run.

Eventually Jon would be on his feet and back to what passed for normal in his life. When that day arrived, Jon knew without a doubt that Sansa would take his hand in hers and grace him with one of her special smiles as she thanked him, yet again, for saving her. Then she would walk away from him and out of his life. After that, he might see her from time to time at a premiere, during a talk show appearance, or on the red carpet, but it would be different. Sansa would be on someone else’s arm or talking about someone else, someone tall, handsome, more suave, sophisticated, and way more put together than Jon Snow. Better to end Sansa’s visits now rather than later when he was well past hopelessly in love with her. Jon knew that Sansa would never be his and he needed to concentrate on getting better rather than mooning over a woman that would never love him like he loved her. 

*************************  
Sansa slowly opened the door to Jon’s room; as she suspected, he was asleep. The nurse on desk duty had told her that Mr. Snow had insisted on walking for a full hour earlier and that he was likely _totally knackered_. Sansa flipped the harsh ceiling light off and then crept toward Jon’s bed. She had brought him take-out and while she thought Jon might naturally rouse when he got a whiff of the fast food he had been begging for, she wasn’t going to deliberately wake him up. He need his rest. Sitting the bag and a drink on the table, Sansa engaged in what had become a guilty pleasure in the last few days: gazing at Jon Snow while he was asleep. 

His mouth was slightly open and soft snores rumbled from his broad chest. Sansa had been around some when the nurses had cared for Jon and she knew from careful observation that his torso was smooth, with perfect pecs and defined washboard abs that most men would kill for, but few would work hard enough to obtain. But his impressive physique wasn’t the only attribute that made Jon Snow attractive: Sansa’s hands itched to play with his unruly dark curls - _were they really as soft as they appeared?_ \- to run a finger along his strong bearded jawline, to smooth out the frown that seemed to make itself perpetually at home between his lovely eyebrows, and oh gods, to touch his soft full mouth with her own. 

Given her family’s connections in the entertainment industry Sansa had grown up surrounded by attractive people. As a result she was not one to easily lose her head over a pretty face. But Jon Snow was just _so, so, so_ delicious that Sansa found herself staring at him often, hoping that he wouldn’t catch her ogling him as if he were the lone lemon cake in a bakery window. 

As an actress Sansa was interested in emotional motivation and, being an honest person, she routinely applied the same scrutiny to her own behaviors that she did to her characters. Sansa had certainly spent a lot of time analyzing her strong reaction to Jon Snow. She was practical enough to acknowledge that part of the attraction she felt for Jon was the fact that he had saved her from a near death experience. But even before Jon had so heroically stepped in front of the blade Slynt meant for her, Sansa had already felt a strong connection to him and she thought that it wasn’t just because he was unbelievably handsome, although he definitely hit all cylinders in the looks department. No, Sansa had decided that the primary reason Jon made her stomach clench and her toes tingle was his character: his truthfulness, his sincerity, and above all, his self-deprecating humility. Jon honestly didn’t realize how good looking he was and that appealed to Sansa in a way that the cloying false modesty of some actors _(ahem, Harry Hardying, cough, cough)_ never could. 

Sansa chewed her lip as she sat down in the chair next to Jon’s bed; she was truly a goner when it came to this man and she found herself in the unusual position of mooning over someone who didn’t seem to reciprocate her feelings in any way. Sansa wondered when Jon would suggest to her, _politely no doubt,_ that her attentions were no longer needed. She knew that day was coming and knowing Jon, it would likely be sooner rather than later. How would she handle being told that he no longer wanted her at his bedside? 

************************

Jon stirred. He had been dreaming about Sansa. It had been a beautiful figment of his imagination. They had been together in the North, far from the heat of Dorne and the hustle and bustle of Kings Landing. They were riding sturdy northern horses, treking across a snow clad, romantic landscape toward a frozen waterfall Jon knew to be breathtaking. Sansa was smiling, her beautiful face framed by hooded furs and a scarf underneath that exactly matched her amazing blue eyes. Jon reached across the distance between their mounts and laid his gloved hand across her smaller one where it rested on the pommel of the saddle. Sansa’s eyes twinkled merrily as she questioned him about why they were riding so slowly. " _Afraid to fall off, Jon? Your horse seems gentle enough"_ , she had joked. He had shook his head, so mesmerized by the vision she presented that he couldn’t trust his voice to formulate a sensible response. He had merely taken a deep breath, closed his eyes, and leaned toward her....

Jon bit his lip and groaned. While sleeping he had somehow managed to roll over on his wounded side and the resulting pain was so intense he wanted to scream. Sansa - _the real Sansa_ \- not the beauty in his dream, was hovering worriedly over him even as she appeared to be simultaneously pressing the call button and his morphine drip.

“Jon. Let me help you. Let’s get you on your back.” 

Jon nodded, biting his lip again as he pushed against the mattress with both hands while Sansa steadied him until he was more comfortable. Once his head was positioned on the pillow she had gently placed behind his head, Jon closed his eyes and fought the overwhelming nausea that had reared its ugly head once more. _He would not hurl in front of Sansa!_

While Jon fought to keep the meager contents of his stomach where they belonged, Sansa grabbed a rag from his table and ran into the bathroom to wet it. She returned and proceeded to wipe his face gently with the cool cloth. Sansa wanted to cry; she had never seen someone in such agony and she wished Jon would just let it out rather than so obviously trying to be brave, fighting so hard to keep his pain from her. 

She started as his broad hand came up to halt the path of the wash cloth across his forehead. She looked down to see a weak grin spread across his face. “Thanks. I’m better now,” he spoke hoarsely. Sansa cleared her throat. “Jon, you don’t have to pretend with me. I know you are hurting. What can I do to help you?”

Jon’s grin disappeared as he took the cloth from her hand and wiped the sides of his face, then tossed it on the table as he huffed, “You don’t need to do anything, Sansa. You aren’t my nurse.” He looked down and began to pick nervously at a loose thread on the blanket Sansa had pulled up to cover his lap. Sansa waited patiently, her manicured nails curved around the bed rail. Jon couldn’t look at her, but he knew he had to speak. It was time to rip the bandage off. His voice came out as a mere whisper. “I don’t know why you feel it necessary to come here every day.” 

Sansa took a sharp breath that she expelled as a nervous laugh. “Of course, I’m not your nurse! And I guess it isn’t _necessary_ that I be here. I can’t do much, but I want to help and I thought, I mean, it seemed like you enjoyed having me here....”

Jon found his voice as he shook his head stubbornly, his curls obscuring his face from her scrutiny. “I know you have obligations, Sansa. You can’t help me recuperate. It’s going to be a long haul and you have way better things to do than to just sit here day after day. You have your own life, your career, and you need to tend to it. You don’t owe me anything.” 

Sansa felt the hard prick of tears form at the corner of both eyes. _What had happened? Why was Jon suddenly acting like this?_

“Do you want me to leave, Jon?” 

Jon turned his head and looked out the window. “Yes.” 

Jon sensed, rather than saw, Sansa cover her mouth with her hand. She was obviously aghast at his rudeness. He waited for Sansa to gather her anger around her, for her to move briskly away from his bed, to snatch up her designer purse, to open the door of his room and walk out of his life. _Gods_ , Sansa needed to leave before he began to beg her, like the besotted fool he was, to forgive him for his harsh words, to implore her to lay her attentions like a balm over his wounded heart and to never remove them again. 

Nothing happened. She hadn’t moved. He would have to do something more... He turned his head and looked back at her. _Seven hells_ , he had made her cry. He felt emotion clog his own throat and he reached out an unsteady hand toward her....

His movement freed Sansa from her immobility. Jon didn’t want her here... _Why had she ever thought he would?_ She swiped both palms down the sides of her dress and cleared her throat. “I understand. I’ll be going now.” She picked up her purse and sweater and headed toward the door. She halted, one hand on the knob and spoke, not looking back. “I hope you get better soon, Jon. I will never forget what you did for me.” Sansa straightened her shoulders and spoke to the door, "I owe you my life." She took one more deep breath, then turned, spearing the man in the bed with her honest azure gaze. “You are such a good man. If I or my family can do anything for you, please let us know. I owe you my life.” 

Jon opened his mouth to call her back. But she had already slipped through the door and was gone. He dropped his head back on the pillow and closed his burning eyes, opening them only when Lyanna and Oberyn suddenly bustled into the room. Lyanna dropped a kiss on his forehead and then picked up a forgotten white sack on his table. “Sansa said she was bringing you a burger and fries. You should eat before it gets cold. By the way, dear, where _is_ Sansa?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next installment, Jon will continue to recuperate. Lyanna will have an uncomfortable encounter with someone from her past, and something will happen that will bring Jon and Sansa back together...in the North.


	4. Uncomfortable Recognitions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna goes on her first real date with Oberyn and everything is lovely until Oberyn's family shows up at the same restaurant. Jon leaves the hospital and gains a body guard, courtesy of Ned. Oberyn stews over Lyanna, makes a nuisance of himself at her hotel and then,...rinse and repeat some particularly someone else does the same. All while Jon is enjoying rehab with the Sand Snakes. This chapter is really, really long and a smorgsabord of lots of folks, but sorry to say, very little Sansa. All important though to advance the story.

Lyanna Snow took a deep breath as she surveyed herself in the mirror. She hadn’t been on a real date - _nothing more than coffee or a quick deli sandwich shared with a fellow professor_ \- since Jon was an infant. Lyanna had quickly learned that while most men craved her companionship, they didn’t want to be saddled with a baby as well. Once her suitors learned that she had a child, they immediately seemed to lose interest or just as quickly remember mandatory appointments that created unavoidable conflicts with planned dates. _So sorry I can’t make it tonight. I’ll call you to reschedule as soon as my job settles down._ Inevitably, she never heard from them again. After a few times, she learned to point blank tell any man who came around that she was busy raising a little boy and that she had no time for meaningless dalliances.

Lyanna smiled softly as she fingered the material of the smoke blue dress she had spied today in the window of a boutique in downtown Sunspear. _I can’t remember the last time I bought something that wasn’t practical._

After awhile, her lack of male companionship had become a fact of life. Somehow five years had become ten, then twenty, and now approaching thirty years later, Lyanna found the reflection of a forty seven year old single mother looking back at her. A woman who had been intimate with exactly _one_ man at age nineteen. She smoothed the folds of her dress one last time and then turned her attention to her makeup.

Once Lyanna had recovered from the crushing disappointment she had suffered when it became clear that Rheagar didn’t want her or their son, she really hadn’t missed the lack of romantic attention. She had focused on Jon and he had brought her more joy than she could have ever imagined. 

Lyanna shook her head as she silently considered those long ago heartaches. _What a silly young thing she had been!_ She had learned to be content, happy even....she had a fulfilling job teaching history at White Harbor University. She was a professor, fully tenured, and the Vice-Chair of the department. She had friends, colleagues - both male and female - that she enjoyed socializing with on a platonic basis, especially now that her son had grown up and left the nest. 

Lyanna leaned into the mirror in the elegant bathroom in her room. She rarely wore makeup but tonight would be different: she had decided that her first _official_ date with Oberyn Martell warranted a little more effort than she usually put forth. As she applied eye shadow, liner and mascara, she thought about all the wonderful people who had helped her as she struggled to raise Jon and still forge a career for herself. She had been determined to complete her education and receive a PhD. Her doctoral thesis had focused on the indigenous peoples of the North, with an emphasis on the melding of disparate free folk cultures during time of war or crisis. The research had required her to go to the Wall and beyond for several weeks at a time. Jon had been barely six when she had left him for the first time and it had nearly killed her. She couldn’t have done it - wouldn’t have ever considered leaving him behind - had it not been for her neighbors, Davos and Marya Seaworth. 

Lyanna’s own parents had died in a car accident when she was still in middle school. Lyanna had been passed around between reluctant distant relatives until she turned 18 and graduated from high school. Two years later she was a struggling college sophomore with a small baby and no help in sight. She was determined not to drop out of school but she also had to work. 

The Seaworths lived across the street from her building. Davos had been pruning winter roses in the front yard when he noticed her struggling, trying to manage both six month old Jon and an armload of books. He had hurried over and struck up a conversation as he helped her pull Jon’s pram up the three flights of stairs to her efficiency apartment. The next day Marya had slid an invitation for dinner under her door and a lifelong friendship had begun. To this day, Jon proudly acknowledges the Seaworths as the only grandparents he had ever known. Davos and Marya took Jon into their home while Lyanna traveled, getting him to and from school, transporting him to his football practices, and cheering him on from the sidelines at games. When Jon began to take a serious interest in theater, Marya had encouraged him to audition and she had spent hours sewing intricate costumes for Jon’s high school plays. It had been the Seaworths who had ultimately persuaded a reluctant, over protective Lyanna that she should allow Jon to accept the merit scholarship he had been offered so he could attend the prestigious Crown City School of Drama hundreds of miles away from her in Kings Landing.

Lyanna had only seen Davos Seaworth cry one time in all their long acquaintance - the day Marya had passed away two years earlier. But when Lyanna had called to inform her old friend that Jon had been seriously hurt, Davos had driven to her home and tearfully demanded to fly to Dorne with her. Lyanna knew that the long trip would be a great strain on the older man and she could not have her attentions divided between his welfare and her son. As she threw clothes haphazardly into her travel bag, she had managed to calm him down somewhat by swearing to give him hourly updates when she arrived in Dorne and by promising that as soon as Jon regained consciousness, she would arrange a zoom call. Even the stoic Septa Mordane had been seen dabbing at her eyes when Davos saw “his boy” awake and lying in his hospital bed, pale but alive and clearly recovering.   
  
Lyanna finished with the eyeliner pen and smiled, half at her unfamiliar appearance and half in memory of her good friends and neighbors. She picked up a brush and set about bringing her dark, shoulder length curls into submission. Lyanna had thought to pull them into her usual upsweep, but had changed her mind when she remembered how much Oberyn had seemed to like playing with the curls that inevitably came loose from her bun as they had sat, day after day, at the hospital. Lyanna wasn’t a vain woman but she was proud of the fact that except for the single silver strand here and there, her hair was still as dark as Jon’s mop of curls. Not for the first time she paused to mentally thank both the old gods and the new that her son bore so little resemblance to his sperm donor. At rare moments Lyanna could see a bit of Rheagar Targaryen in Jon - the slope of his nose, the curve of his mouth, the undeniable grace with which he moved through life. But for the most part, Jon Snow favored his mother and for that she was grateful. 

Lyanna blushed as she thought about styling her hair just to please Oberyn. She had been leery of the _oh so_ suave and sophisticated man at first, but gradually she had come to like and even respect him. He was a charmer - no doubt - and his reputation as a ladies man was well known. But he was clearly honest in his concern for her and her son. Most significant given Lyanna’s past experiences was the fact that while Oberyn was open about his interest in her, he was respectful and he had never gone too far or presumed too much. He had won her over with his constant attentions and she had promised him that when Jon was better, she would join him for dinner at one of Sunspear’s finest eating establishments. With Jon recovering at a rapid pace, the night for their date had finally arrived. 

Satisfied with her hair, Lyanna reached for her lipstick. 

Jon had been discharged from Dorne Medical the week before. He had begged to be released to return to work, but when Dr. Mormont insisted that he first go through physical therapy before being fully cleared to return to the set of _Ice and Fire_ , Jon had demanded that he be admitted to the toughest rehabilitation facility around. As usual Jon was determined to be at full speed when he walked back on the set of his show. 

Once again, Oberyn had proven helpful. As it so happened his _daughters by different mothers_ owned Sand Snakes Sports Medicine, Dorne’s most prestigious rehabilitation center. Oberyn solemnly informed Jon that if he could make it through the programs Nymeria, Tyene, and Obara Martell, would individually craft for him, he could make it through anything. Never one to back down or refuse a challenge, Jon had signed up immediately. Lyanna had to admit that the intensive personal training Oberyn’s girls were giving him appeared to be working. Jon was jogging almost five miles a day and he was working on strengthening his weakened stomach muscles with great dedication. Lyanna personally thought that the attractive Sand sisters - especially the youngest, Tyene, might be just a bit _too_ interested in her good looking son’s workouts, but she trusted Jon and knew he had no interest in any of the three beyond their ability - as he referred to it - _to kick his butt and make him stronger than ever_. 

  
Lyanna was pretty sure that Jon would never let any woman - or trio of women - distract him from his career, but even if he did, it certainly wouldn’t be one of Oberyn’s daughters. Lyanna knew for certain that Jon had special feelings for Sansa Stark so she had been troubled when Sansa abruptly stopped visiting with him at the hospital. While Jon didn’t appear outwardly bothered by Sansa’s absence, Lyanna could read her son pretty well and she knew that he was missing the Stark girl more than he let on. Lyanna also knew that if she pressed him, he would just clam up and she wouldn’t learn anything at all about what was going on between the two. Lyanna hadn’t known anything at all about raising children when Jon first came into her life, but she had certainly learned a lot along the way. If she wanted her son to talk she would have to wait patiently until he was ready to share his thoughts and feelings with her. That wasn’t always easy, but it was the best way to find out what was going on in her boy’s mind and heart. 

Lyanna paused as she surveyed her appearance one more time. _She didn’t wear them often but tonight,...tonight called for something special._ She flipped the light off in the bathroom and moved to the dresser in her room. Opening the drawer, she pulled out her velvet jewelry bag and rifled through the contents. Lyanna took a deep breath and pulled out the only nice jewelry she owned.... two elegant hoops that still sparkled as brightly after twenty seven years as they had the night he had first threaded them through her ears. 

Lyanna held the earrings in one hand and thought back to the night Rheagar had given them to her. It was their last night in Dorne. He hadn’t told her he loved her - _not in so many words_ \- but as they were laying side by side, totally spent from yet another intense bout of love making, he had rolled over and reached inside the drawer of the bedside table. When he rolled back, Rheagar had propped his head on one hand, watching her carefully as he handed her a small package. She had sat up excitedly in the bed, the sheet falling to her waist as she opened the elegant box. Inside, cushioned on a bed of black velvet, lay the most beautiful pair of diamond earrings she had ever seen. _Rheagar_ , she had breathed as he had sat up next to her. Carefully removing the cheap loops from her ears, he had gently inserted one of the glittering dangles in each of her lobes, and then set them to swaying back and forth with one long finger. _Beautiful_ , he had breathed and then there had been no more words exchanged as they once more surrendered to the passion between them. The next morning when Lyanna had awoken, he was gone and she was left with an ivory sheet of stationery and beautiful diamonds.

Lyanna bit her lip and then mentally swore, remembering that she had just applied lipstick. As she put the earrings on, she thought once again about her decision to keep them. She could have sold them many times over when money was tight, but she had held on to them with a stubborn determination. The delicate earrings were the only thing that she had received from Rheagar that she could pass on to his son. Lyanna had resolved that when Jon finally found the special woman he wanted to spend his life with, she would give her son the jewelry to present to his wife. Until then, however, she would wear them as a testament to her resilience. Earrings inserted, she glanced at herself one more time in the mirror and then turned to leave the room for her date with a charming Dornishman. 

******************

Oberyn Martell proudly trailed behind the beautiful woman that was his date for the evening as the maitre ‘d of the Tower Joyeux Restaurant escorted them to their table. Oberyn had specified the table he wanted and he privately applauded himself for his choice when Lyanna let out a soft gasp of delight at she looked out over the night skyline of Sunspear which was displayed from the window of the revolving restaurant that sat atop Dorne’s highest building.

“This is lovely, Oberyn!” Lyanna exclaimed as she removed her napkin from the table. Oberyn leaned back in his seat and surveyed his companion. “It certainly is.” His calm assertion left no doubt that he wasn’t referring to the Dornish capitol’s skyline.

Lyanna blushed and looked down at the napkin she had just placed in her lap. “You are quite the ladies man, aren’t you?” Oberyn looked with false abstraction at the ceiling, considering her question before winking as he returned his eyes to hers. “I would be crushed if I couldn’t charm you just a bit, Lyanna. After all, we Dornishmen are known for the superiority of our suave and sophisticated ways.” 

Lyanna laughed, a tinkling sound that Oberyn somewhat wistfully thought he would like to hear first thing every morning for the rest of his life. “I am afraid that your magic is wasted upon me. I am just a simple Northern girl who knows more about the ways of the Free Folk than the charms or sophistication of Dorne.” 

“And yet, Lyanna Snow, you and your beauty have so thoroughly charmed me that I am entirely under your spell,” Oberyn murmured as he leaned across the table and took her hand in his own, bending his head to place a soft kiss on top. He was encouraged when she didn’t immediately pull away, but allowed him to continue to stroke her fingers. Lyanna looked down, but then as if marshaling her inner courage, she captured his dark eyes with her own. “Then I suppose we are mutually bewitched, Oberyn Martell.” 

Their gaze held, interrupted only by the sommalier who came to seek their wine selections.  
Oberyn cleared his throat and sat back, asking Lyanna if she wanted to pick. As he suspected she might, she demurred to his choice. He picked a bottle of the best red, determined to spare no expense on this night. Once the sommalier had complimented his choice and left, he joined Lyanna in their perusal of the menu. “What is particularly good here?” she asked. 

Oberyn loved good food and drink and he warmed to the suggestion that Lyanna would seek his opinion. “Depends. I always get the shrimp thermidor, but if you aren’t a seafood lover, I would suggest the filet. It is always superb.” Lyanna nodded at his suggestions. After some discussion they decided to split an entree and they were ready to order when the waiter came back around to fill their water glasses and provided bread for the table. 

Lyanna automatically reached for the butter knife and sliced off a pad of butter, using it to lather a slice of warm bread before placing it on Oberyn’s plate. She was in the middle of fixing her own piece when she realized that Oberyn was looking at her quizzically. “What?” 

He chuckled. “No one has buttered my bread for me since I was in nursery school.” Lyanna laid the knife down and Oberyn thought, not for the first time, how adorable she was when flustered. “I am _so, so_ sorry. For so many years, I always buttered Jon’s bread before I buttered my own. I suppose old habits die hard.”

Oberyn lifted his bread and took a big bite. “Think nothing of it. I could get used to a little pampering.” She furrowed her brows as if trying to decide if he was having her on, and Oberyn realized that he enjoyed jibbing back and forth with her. She began giggling until Oberyn found himself joining along. “What is so funny?” 

She pressed her napkin to her mouth. “Oh, I was just wondering what Jon would say if he knew that I just confessed to the chief entertainment mogul in Dorne that I automatically butter his bread for him even to this day!” 

Oberyn laughed out loud. “You have to admit that it doesn’t exactly mesh with his image as the tough, brooding warrior of _Ice and Fire_.” 

Lyanna giggles subsided a bit as she shook her head. “So much of Jon shows in his portrayal of Jae. He _is_ brave and tough and strong. Loyal and honest.” She glanced up at Oberyn under long, dark lashes so similar to those of her handsome son. “But he is also often bashful, awkward and shy. And above all, he is still, and will always be, my little boy.” 

Oberyn raised his glass of red. “To Jon Snow’s mother. The most amazing woman in the seven kingdoms!” Lyanna blushed, then after a pause, clinked her glass against his. Oberyn took another sip and was about to change the topic when looking over Lyanna’s shoulder, he saw someone familiar sitting down the line of tables. “I can’t believe it!” 

Oberyn had raised up from his seat, hands propped on the chair arms, to get a better look. “Someone you know?” Lyanna asked as she turned slightly in her chair.

He dropped his napkin. “It’s my sister, Elia. She lives in Kings Landing with her husband. They usually call me when they are planning to visit Dorne. I can’t believe that they are here!” 

Lyanna smiled. “How wonderful for you. You must go say something to her.” Oberyn stepped out into the aisle but then halted, remembering his manners. “I shouldn’t abandon you.”

“Nonsense. I’ll be fine until you get back. Go on and say hello to your sister and her husband.” 

Oberyn nodded, his gaze already focused several tables down. “I’ll be right back. I will bring her back to meet you, Lyanna. Elia will absolutely love you.” 

Still smiling, Lyanna turned back in her seat and reached for another slice of the delicious bread. She felt a pleasant fluttering in her stomach, whether from the wine or Oberyn’s attentions, she couldn’t quite say for sure. While preparing so carefully for this date, she hadn’t let herself think too much about how tonight might end, but Lyanna was finding Oberyn so handsome, so carefree, and so very attractive that she was beginning to believe things might go further than she had ever allowed herself to imagine. But did she really want that? _It had been so long_....

Lyanna tensed, her mind jumping backwards to Oberyn’s parting words. _Elia will absolutely love you._   
_Elia_....It couldn’t be. There was no way in seven hells that such a coincidence could occur. Yet... _She lives in Kings Landing with her husband._

The pleasant tingling had been brusquely shoved aside by a hollow, sinking feeling. Elia wasn’t a common name in the Crownlands. It was a distinctly Dornish name. What were the odds that Oberyn’s Elia was also Rheagar’s Elia? _Oh, gods!_ Lyanna held her napkin up to her mouth to stave off a sudden wave of nausea. She had to look back! She had to know for sure! 

Steeling herself, Lyanna cautiously turned in her chair and looked for Oberyn. He was wearing a long coat in a soft color that reminded her of melted caramel. So distinctively dressed, Oberyn would be easy to spot. She craned her neck; there he was, his lean body slanted over another window table halfway down the room, hands splayed along the sides, deep in animated conversation with a seated someone. 

Lyanna eased out of her chair and craned her neck sideways in a desperate attempt to catch a glimpse of the table’s occupants. She saw a dark head seated in the spot where Oberyn’s attention was focused. No doubt that would be Elia. She looked past Oberyn and her heart stopped, then started, then stopped again. _It was him!_....Years older, more gray now than silver in his hair, still worn stylishly long. Despite those changes, she would recognize him anywhere. Still the same high forehead, the same wide, violet colored eyes under straight brows, his elegantly shaped fingers reaching to grasp Oberyn’s hand in his own. 

  
Lyanna turned around so quickly that the table shook. She pressed her hands on the table, both to keep it from wobbling and to keep herself from sinking to the floor. _I can’t let him bring them back to meet me! I have to get out of here before that happens!_ In the back of her mind, a deep regret was forming because she knew that her budding relationship with Oberyn was over before it had truly begun. She blindly fished for her clutch and shawl. Grabbing them, Lyanna pushed herself out of the chair, almost colliding with the waiter who was bringing their entree. 

“Excuse me,” she whispered frantically. The waiter held the heavy tray high above his head, reaching to steady it even as he glanced at her with concern. “Are you alright, madam?” 

“Yes, yes! I just need some air. I’ll be fine.” She edged around the server and dashed down the aisle toward the elevators, not stopping even when she heard Oberyn call out to her. She hit circle pointing “down” and thanked the gods when the doors opened immediately. Lyanna darted into the compartment and stabbed the ground floor button, looking up only as the doors were closing. She saw Oberyn with his mouth open, confusion flashing across his face. Standing beside him was a beautiful woman and the man who had simultaneously ruined her life while blessing her with a gift beyond all measure. As the panels closed, Rheagar was staring at her too, but unlike his companions, his face bore a horrified look of recognition. As the elevator smoothly slid down to the lobby, Lyanna slunk against the elevator wall, holding on to the bar to keep from slipping to the floor. _Oberyn will tell them who I am. He will learn that I am Jon Snow’s mother. And, oh Gods! He will know that Jon is his son._

*******************

The young concierge at the Celestial Palace Hotel couldn’t help himself: he visibly jumped when the tall, angry Dornishman forcefully hit the palm of his hand against the reception desk. “Call Room 1750. Tell Ms. Lyanna Snow that Oberyn Martell is here to see her.” 

The young man stuttered. “I have called five times already, Mr. Martell. She isn’t answering. I left your message and she hasn’t responded. I don’t think the lady wants to be disturbed.” His adam’s apple bobbed as he added nervously. “If she is _even_ here. Sir.”   
Oberyn leaned into the young man’s space and smiled a bit ominously. “What is your name?”

“Per..Perros. Perros Blackmont.” 

Oberyn casually picked up a letter opener laying on the desk and began to idly twirl it between his fingers. “Well, Perros, I am on very intimate terms with the management and I provide this hotel with a great deal of business. Do you understand?”

Perros nodded, wide-eyed. “Yes sir, I understand.” The boy straightened to his full height and looked directly at the older man. “But I have a job to do, sir, and that doesn’t include letting someone harass a female guest.” His throat bobbed again. “Not even you, sir.” 

Oberyn was impressed with Blackmont’s gumption and made a mental note to compliment the owners on the young man’s inner fortitude. But that would come later. Right now he needed the boy scared badly enough that he would be willing to help him get to Lyanna. 

Oberyn growled and pointed the opener directly at Blackmont’s name tag. “Damn it all, Perros, I am not harrassing her! I am worried about her!”

The stalemate was broken when the house phone rang, startling both men. Perros and Oberyn looked down to see the “interior” line blinking. Perros tentatively picked up the receiver and spoke. “Front desk. Perros Blackmont speaking. How may I help you?” His eyebrows shot up into his hairline as he heard the response and he nodded tentatively to Oberyn. “Yes, ma’am. I understand. Yes, ma’am. He is right here. Yes. Thank you, ma’am.”

Perros sighed in relief as he wordlessly handed the phone to Oberyn who grasped the receiver as if it was priceless treasure. He swallowed hard before he spoke, willing himself to calm down. “Lyanna? Are you all right? I was worried about you.”

A soft voice filtered through the line. She sounded tired and sad. “I am fine, Oberyn. I am so sorry that I ruined our wonderful dinner. I just couldn’t stay.”

Oberyn turned his back to Perros, seeking a modicum of privacy as he lowered his voice. “May I come up and see you, sweet lady? I want to see you, to make sure you are okay.”

He blanched as he heard what sounded suspiciously like a sob, then her voice came over the line again, even quieter this time. “Not tonight, Oberyn. I promise I am fine.” Another gasp and she spoke again. “I just need to be alone. Please try to understand.” The line clicked dead and the call light blinked off. Oberyn handed the receiver back to Perros who quietly placed it in the cradle. He nodded at the boy and reached in his pocket, pulling out several dragons. Perros shook his head, but he still laid them on the surface and pushed them toward the concierge. “For your trouble, Blackmont. Thank you.” 

He walked away, his mind in turmoil. _Please try to understand_ , she had said. He left the hotel and signaled the valet for his car. 

_Damnation!_ He _didn’t_ understand. He had been with more women than he could count on both fingers and he prided himself on being able to read their moods and emotions like a book. He had to be honest and admit that Lyanna Snow was nothing like his typical conquest. But she was still a woman and he knew - he was absolutely certain - that she had been enjoying their evening as much as he was. Oberyn thought back to earlier that evening: he remembered her laughter, carefree and sparkling. He could feel her awe and enjoyment as she took in the sights of the city. He heard her voice and knew that she had been fully engaged in pouring over the menu offerings. Oberyn closed his eyes and saw in his mind the blush that spread across her lovely cheeks as she looked back at him through those wondrous black lashes.

His car pulled up and the valet handed him his keys. As he lowered himself into his car and checked the rearview mirror before pulling away, Oberyn growled under his breath. Lyanna had been fine. Better than fine. What had happened? _Think, Martell, think. What caused her to change so suddenly?_

As the signal light flashed red before him, Oberyn braked hard, as he went over the events of the evening in minute detail. Lyanna had been absolutely fine _until_ he went back to see Elia and Rheagar. Something had happened between the time he left the table and when he returned with his sister and her husband. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently as he mentally sought for the missing piece to this puzzle. His eyes widened as he suddenly remembered: Elia had been eager to meet his date, but Rheagar....well, Rheagar came too, wearing his usual air of being put upon. They had been right behind Oberyn when he realized that Lyanna had bolted from their table. He had given chase to catch her before she could get on the elevator, but she had been too quick. When he had turned, confused, hurt, and upset, Elia had immediately taken hugged him, soothing him in her usual big sister way. But his brother-in-law hadn’t said one word. 

Oberyn heard the horn behind him and he realized that the light had turned green. He accelerated and allowed his thoughts to return to Rheagar. The man’s complexion was even paler than normal... as white as a Dornish sea cliff. While Elia assured him that she would take care of his check so he could leave to go after Lyanna, Rheagar had been completely silent. It wasn’t until Oberyn was ready to get on the elevator that Rheagar had finally spoken. Oberyn realized now that his sister’s husband had been struggling to speak in his normal tone of studied insouiance. “Say again, Obie. How did you come to meet this Lyanna Snow?”

Oberyn had shaken his head in disbelief at the time. Leave it to his businessman brother-in-law to want a detailed account at the worst possible moment. He had kept impatiently pushing the button as he responded. “A long story, but to cut to the chase, her son, Jon Snow, is the young man that saved the Stark girl from a knife wielding loon at the film festival three weeks ago. I came to the hospital to express my concerned interest, met Lyanna, and the rest is history.” 

Oberyn gripped the steering wheel in a death grip. _How was it possible that he hadn’t seen Rheagar’s bizarre behavior for what it was at the time?_

Now that he thought back, even Elia had looked strangely at her husband when he had nervously blurted out one final question to Oberyn. “Just how old is this brave young man would you say?” 

“Twenty seven, for gods sake!” He had bellowed it out as he dashed into the elevator. Turning to face his family, frustrated beyond belief by the evening’s turn of events, Oberyn had lost his cool and snapped as the door shut, “You’ll have to wait to get his shoe size until I have more time to talk, Rae!”   
  
Oberyn pulled into his drive, cut the engine, and leaned back against the soft leather. Closing his eyes, he mentally reviewed all of the evening’s strange events. There was no doubt whatsoever. Lyanna Snow had left the Tower of Joy that evening _because_ she had seen Rheagar Targaryen. More importantly, Rheagar had been shocked to see her there in Dorne. Oberyn left his car, pressed the key fob, and then strode toward his door. He had work to do. Before he was through, he would exactly why Lyanna Snow wanted to avoid Rheagar and he would know exactly what his brother-in-law had done to make her run away. He would know everything or Rheagar would rue the day he had ever met and married his sweet sister.

  
********************

Jon shucked off the plush robe that he had donned after taking a quick shower and slowly eased himself with a groan into the swirling waters of the whirlpool. He sighed in pleasure as the warm jets began to attack the knots in his back, shoulders, and legs. Jon ran a hand through his wet curls and then spread his arms out across the back of the tub, leaning his head back and closing his eyes in contentment.

A soft knock sounded at the door, but before Jon could answer, it opened, revealing one of the many staff that seemed to wait on every whim and wish of the Sand Snake patients. It was a young girl, dressed all in white. She was very attractive in the tanned, sloe eyed fashion of the Dornes. The girl smiled as she gave Jon a quick once over. “Mr. Snow. When would you like me to serve your dinner?” 

“Would thirty minutes be too late? I just got in the pool.”

The girl nodded, even as her gaze slid across Jon’s full length, thankfully obscured by the swirling waters. “No bother, Mr. Snow. Once you leave the therapy room, your time is your own and I am here to take care of your _every_ need.” Jon’s eyes grew wide. Had she placed some special emphasis on that adjective or was that just his overactive and slightly horny imagination?   
  
He coughed, his Northern brogue becoming painfully evident. “Thirty minutes then. Thank you.”   
She nodded gracefully and exited the bathroom quietly. He leaned back and wondered, not for the first time, how certain people continued to get past Clegane. He had no doubt that the man was well aware the girl had entered his private quarters; after all, Sandor was ensconced right in front of his cottage door. But the gruff man seemed to take a perverse pleasure in placing Jon in embarrassing situations. He huffed to himself. _Man up, Snow! You can stand letting the man take the piss out of you a time or two. Just so long as he does his job._

Jon thought back to the day he had checked out of the hospital. He had already packed his meager belongings and was waiting for his final instructions. It had been a busy day. Dr. Mormont had stopped by to give him a final check and had pronounced him fit to be, as the Doc put it, _tortured by those Snake women_. He had taken a bath and put on actual street clothes for the first time in what felt like forever. He had received final instructions from Septa Mordane along with a quick hug and a brisk admonition to _take care of himself_. The rest of the staff had wandered in and out over the course of the morning to tell him goodbye; he had donated most of the get-well gifts he had received from fans; the nurses cooed over every stuffed animal as they carted them off to the children’s wing while the flowers that were still relatively fresh went to the geriatric floor. Jon didn’t feel that he was overly sentimental and he certainly wasn’t going to regret checking out of Dorne Medical, but damn if he didn’t get a bit teary eyed as he personally thanked all the folks who had helped save his life. 

Finally, just as he was waiting to be wheeled down to the lobby to catch the van that the Center was sending to pick him up, Jon had been surprised by one last visitor. He had looked up when Ned Stark knocked, a matter of courtesy only as the door was already open. Lord Stark entered the room accompanied by a gruff, scarred man who dwarfed the imposing Ned.

  
“How are you feeling, son?” Ned asked in his gruff Northern tones. 

“Much better, thanks. I’m heading off to rehab today.” 

Ned nodded. “That’s good. I expect you will graduate ahead of schedule and at the top of your class.” 

Jon chuckled. “I just want to be cleared for work. But I expect you already know that, sir.”

Ned nodded again. “Jon, I want you to meet Sandor Clegane.” 

Jon reached out a hand but received a scowl in return. He pulled his hand back. “Mr. Clegane.”

“Just Clegane.”

Ned gave a somewhat exasperated glance at the bigger man who stepped back and crossed his arms behind his back. “Sandor is going with you, Jon.” 

“With me? What for?” 

Ned sat down next to Jon. “To protect you. Until I know that Janos Slynt is well and truly put away for good, I cannot rest without knowing that both Sansa and you are protected.” 

Jon huffed. “You don’t need to worry about me, Lord Stark. I can take care of myself.”

Ned shook his head. “No. You can’t. You are injured and you are a high profile, visible target. The rags know everything about your stay at Dorne Medical and it won’t take them long to find out where you are going to be doing your rehab. Once they know, the whole world will know. You need to let me do this for you, boy.” 

Jon looked sideways at the frowning Clegane and lowered his voice. “I hope you found someone a bit more pleasant to watch over Sansa.” 

Ned chuckled. “Don’t worry about Sansa. My girl is being guarded by someone who has known her since she was a baby and who would die for her without a moment’s hesitation. But don’t discount Sandor, Jon. He may not be very talkative, but I promise that he will watch your back and protect you with his life if needs be.” 

Jon pushed himself out of his chair. “I don’t think it will come to that, Mr. Stark. But I appreciate your concern and if it makes you feel better, Mr. Clegane can come along and enjoy watching the Sand Snakes torture me.” Clegane let out a sharp snort at Jon’s pronouncement and Ned smiled, standing to clap his hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself, boy. And come visit us at Winterfell when you can. You and your mother have a standing invitation.”

Jon shook the older man’s hand. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate the invitation, but I expect I’ll be pretty busy with filming once I get released to go back to work.” 

******************

Jon pushed himself out of the whirlpool and after drying off and dressing padded barefoot to the dining room where his food was waiting and Clegane was sitting at one end of the table devouring what looked to be a whole roasted chicken. Jon mentally chuckled as he thought that while Sandor might be the grumpiest man he had ever met - and that included himself - he became almost sociable whenever someone provided him with food. 

Jon sat down and pulled the domed cover off his own meal. He sniffed deeply as he looked at the beef tenderloin and vegetables artfully arranged on his plate. _He certainly couldn't complain about the food - much better than at Dorne Medical!_ As he carved his first piece of meat, Jon glanced over at his guard. “You know, Sandor, my Grandpa was a seaman, worked in the Merchant Marine for over 30 years before he retired. He always told me that seafood would keep your belly full, but that only beef would satisfy. How come you always order chicken? It’s on my tab; you can get what you want.” 

Sandor grunted something unintelligible and continued gnawing on the unfortunate bird. Jon twirled his fork in one hand and then took a bite, humming in pleasure. The men ate in silence. Jon figured that if Clegane didn’t want to talk, he wouldn’t push him. He was deeply curious as to how the big man had been scarred so horribly on one side of his face, but he knew that he likely wouldn’t get that story from his guard. 

Jon was just about to reach for his cheesecake drizzled with strawberry sauce when his phone pinged. A message from his Mum had appeared. Jon frowned as he looked up at the time. His Mum had told him that she was going out with Oberyn Martell that evening and while it was almost 9:00, he was still surprised that his Mum would be texting him during a dinner date.

He scrolled through his contacts and hit his mother’s number. It rang once and then she answered. 

“Hey, Mum!” 

She spoke abruptly. “Jon, I need to talk to you. Tonight.” 

Jon looked down the table at Clegane. He was eating a huge hunk of chocolate cake, but Jon could tell that he was listening carefully. “You okay, Mum? Did something happen with Oberyn?”

There was a slight pause before Lyanna replied. “Yes, I’m fine. Oberyn was a perfect gentleman. That’s now what I called. I _really_ need to talk to you.” Another pause and this time Jon sensed that his mother was holding back tears. “I should have had this talk with you years ago.” 

Her bewildered son sat back and ran his hand through his barely damp curls. “Mum, what in the Name of the Seven is this about?”

He could hear his mother pacing over the phone. It was clear she was agitated. “It’s about your father. I have to talk to you about your father.”

Jon felt a sudden, sharp pain as if he had just been viciously stabbed in the chest. He knew nothing about his sire. His mother had never seemed open to sharing anything about his conception. Although Jon had often wondered about his father when he was younger, he had never pressed Lyanna because, even as a small boy, he didn’t want to upset the mother he adored. After high school, Jon had totally lost interest. He had his Mum, G-Marya and Dadvos, as he fondly referred to the man he considered his grandfather. That was all the family he really needed. _Why on earth does Mum want to talk about my father now?_

“Mum, I don’t understand. Has something happened?”

Lyanna was clearly crying in earnest now. His Mum _never_ cried. “I saw your father tonight. And he saw me.”

Jon replied, puzzlement clear in his voice. “So...you talked?” 

“No! I left before he had a chance to say anything to me. But,...Jon... he knows I am your mother and knowing him, he will figure it all out.”

Jon pushed away from the table so abruptly his chair toppled over. From the corner of his eye, he saw Clegane rush to his feet, on high alert. Jon shook his head and waved the big man down. “Figure out what?”

“Jon, please. I can explain it all to you. But I need to talk to you, face to face. Can I come out tonight?”

Jon held his phone between his shoulder and chin while he bent to pick up his chair. Turning it around, he plopped down with his arms resting on the back. He took a deep breath, trying to be rational and calm. “Mum,” he spoke carefully. “You clearly don’t need to be driving and I can’t leave here. Don’t have a car. Can’t it wait until tomorrow morning? You could drive out early tomorrow and have breakfast with me here at the cottage.”

“What....what...about your therapy?” 

“I can miss one session. I’ll text Tyene and see if she can reschedule. I’ll be fine, Mum. I just don’t want you driving out here in the dark on not so great roads.”

Lyanna’s voice quavered, but she sounded determined. “I’ll be there by eight. I love you, Son. Remember that.” 

“Love you too, Mum. Drive safe.”

Jon placed his phone on the table and rubbed his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“Martell’s a cunt.” Startled, Jon looked up at Clegane. 

“What?”

“Martell’s a cunt.” Jon barked out a surprised laugh as he shook his head. “Maybe so, but Mum said he was a perfect gentleman tonight.”

Sandor huffed, clearly not convinced. 

“Look, Mum’s coming out here first thing in the morning. Can you meet her at the office and bring her back here in the golf cart?” 

Clegane nodded. “You’ll need time alone with her?” Jon nodded, suddenly bone tired. 

The big man stood. “I’ll get on it.” He paused at the door, a strange expression on his face that Jon did not recall seeing before. “Get some sleep, boy. I’ll be outside tonight.”

Jon waited until Sandor had closed the door and then he shuffled toward his bedroom. He brushed his teeth, made water, and then crawled into bed. Jon expected to stay awake, his mind reeling from unexpected thoughts of his unknown father. He reached for the remote to turn on the gas logs in the fireplace that faced his bed. Jon preferred an actual fire, blazing with heat like he was used to growing up at White Harbour. Still he found the flickering light, though fake, to be soothing. Watching the wavering shadows caused by the fire, Jon slowly felt himself sliding toward oblivion. Surprisingly, his last conscious thought was not of his mother or his unknown father, but of long red hair and sparkling blue eyes as clear as the Northern skies. 

********************  
The elegant, silver haired man had approached the concierge desk and politely inquired as to Ms. Lyanna Snow’s location in the Celestial Palace. Perros Blackmont wondered why, on this particular evening, one woman was generating so much interest. But the young man stuck to protocol. He apologized profusely to the older man and explained once again that it was against hotel policy to provide a guest’s room number. _Of course_ , the man had responded politely although Perros sensed some well-hidden annoyance. _I’ll just text her for the number._ The man turned to leave, his ridiculously expensive coat over his arm, but then smoothly pivoted on one foot to ask, “Is the hotel bar still open 24/7?” When Blackmont nodded, he smiled. “Think I’ll just wait in the bar then. Thank you, young man.” 

  
Rheagar slowly nursed his second whiskey. He needed a clear head to confront Lyanna when she finally appeared in the lobby and he couldn’t afford too much liquor in his system. It was late and he had abruptly left his concerned wife at their condo. _But Elia won’t ask too many questions. After all these years, she knows better than to delve too deeply into my personal dealings._

As the long night slowly passed, Rheagar used his phone to find out more about Lyanna Snow and her life after their last unpleasant encounter in King’s Landing. To be honest, when she had appeared in his office, he had thought at first that she was lying about being pregnant and he was convinced she was just trying to shake him down for money. After all, the Targaryens were known for their absurd wealth and for use of such wealth to keep their reputations intact. But when Lyanna had loudly cursed him as he wrote out a handsome check _so she could take care of things_ , Rheagar realized that she really was expecting and that it was very likely his child. He had generously increased the amount and hoped she would go away. Lyanna had indeed gone away, stormed away actually, cursing him as she left. And when she left, she left the check lying on his desk. 

He had never heard from her again; as the years passed by, Rheagar’s tepid marriage, his generally disappointing children, and a succession of other discrete love affairs had demanded his attention and he had forgotten all about his brief, passionate, love affair with a Northern maid. 

Tonight, however, standing behind Elia and Oberyn, he had recognized Lyanna Snow immediately. She was still as beautiful as when he had met her all those years ago and she was wearing the earrings he had given her before he had disappeared from their bed and returned to Kings Landing. 

So now...using the long hours productively... he had informed himself about his old love’s life. He had discovered that she had graduated from college, gotten three advanced degrees and was now a full professor. She was successful and clearly independent. Rheagar had searched intently for evidence of any other significant man, but he could find no evidence that Lyanna had found love after him. _There was only the boy..._

Rheagar looked at the studio photograph he had found of Jon Snow. This boy, Lyanna’s son, was his. Rheagar felt it in his bones, knew it as surely as he knew that the blood of dragons flowed through his own body. Dark hair and eyes aside, the slant of his brows, the shape of his nose, the fulness of his lips, those were Targaryen features, no doubt. Even his wavy curls were similar to Rheagar’s own. He felt his temper, usually kept under rigid control, rise and steam as he thought about the years that his son, his talented, brave, obviously intelligent child, had been hidden from him. _How dare she keep a Targaryen - my boy - in the gods forsaken North?_

Rheagar would wait. He would confront the woman who had stolen his incredible boy away from him. He would learn Jon Snow’s whereabouts and he would introduce himself to his son. And once he met his son, Lyanna Snow would rue the day that she had disappeared with his child. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, next chapter we will catch up with Sansa and Arya who have resumed filing their sitcom. Sansa is distracted for some reason....  
> A sudden unexpected event will throw Sansa, Jon, and their bodyguards together again.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was busy working on the next chapter of The Westerosi Express when this little idea popped into my head. Based somewhat on a real life event but the rest is from my overactive imagination. I plan two chapters with a possible short epilogue. In the next chapter, Sansa will show Jon just how grateful she is that he saved her life (hence the mature rating)!


End file.
